


Dark Night

by undun



Series: Need You Now [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And Second Time, Angst, Badly, Bargaining, First Time, Humour, M/M, Sexual Content, but the sex is good, emotions suck, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 18:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8295380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undun/pseuds/undun
Summary: Wherein certain Persuasive Techniques are employed by Mycroft Holmes to convince Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade to drop everything and follow John and Sherlock to Baskerville. Very Persuasive...





	

**Author's Note:**

> The fully wonderful and preternaturally gifted Luthien got drafted to beta this for me. I bow low before her and throw many cat gifs at her feet.

“Good evening, Detective Inspector.”

Greg almost jumped. It was a close thing. However, years of dealing with Sherlock Holmes and his spooky older brother had nearly succeeded in robbing him of the ability to be surprised by anything less than the sudden appearance of a large purple alien with a hundred shiny tentacles, sipping a cocktail and dancing the Macarena.

“Hello to you too,” Greg greeted the figure sitting in the shadows of his darkened apartment. He sighed mightily and dropped his bags, flipping the light switch and robbing the man of his mysterious and dramatic setting.

Mycroft Holmes looked somewhat less extraordinary now in the unforgiving light of kitchen fluorescents. He quirked an elegantly poised eyebrow at Greg, a stiff smile lurked at the edge of his lips that did not bode well for friendly conversation.

Or he could just be in pain from sitting in a dark kitchen for hours, thought Greg. He wasn’t that good at reading Mycroft. Even Sherlock had trouble deducing him with accuracy. Greg emptied his pockets of wallet, passport and paperback on the kitchen bench top. Mycroft was perched elegantly (was there any other word for anything Mycroft did? Greg thought not) on one of Greg’s stools, umbrella hooked on the back. He looked entirely flawless, as he always did.

And, as always, Greg felt scruffy, harried and unkempt in his presence, in spite of the fact that he hadn’t even been at work for a week and was feeling fairly relaxed. He’d even shaved that morning, for pity’s sake! He stifled another sigh and hung his coat over the back of the other bar stool.

“Okay, what brings you to my humble abode, Mycroft?” Greg asked as he hitched a hip on the stool next to Mycroft. He wasn’t in the mood for puzzles and games, because, although he’d been off work and spent a fair amount of time lying in the sun and swimming in a warm sea, he’d been given no end of run-around by his almost-ex-wife during the settlement process. His nerves… well, they weren’t all they could have been.

“My apologies for arriving unannounced, Detective Inspector.”

“No, you can stop that, right now,” Greg growled. “We’ve gone well past the use of job titles when it’s just you and me, haven’t we?”

Mycroft’s head dipped slightly, losing its angle of arrogance. “Yes, I believe you are correct. Gregory.”

And that’s as informal as it’s going to get, thought Greg. He snorted softly. “What’s the problem then?”

“Sherlock has accessed a top secret research facility using my pilfered key card.”

Greg couldn’t control an outright laugh at that. How good it was to know that his wasn’t the only pocket that Sherlock had successfully picked. Mycroft didn’t look at all amused. Right, top secret and all that. “What do you want me to do about it?” he asked. The hairs on the back of his neck were already beginning to prickle and stand up with his unease. He had an awful sense of foreboding.

“I’d like you to travel to Devon and keep an eye on him and John Watson,” Mycroft answered smoothly.

“Devon? Are you joking?” Greg cried, slapping his hands against his thighs. He stared in disbelief – Mycroft had never tasked him to act outside of his jurisdiction before.

“Not even a little bit.”

“What’s in Devon anyway?” Greg asked. He might as well find out what the silly git was up to.

“He and John have been traipsing around the Baskerville Secure Government Research Facility.” Mycroft’s lips thinned and his gaze pierced Greg’s. “And… I worry about him, as you know,” he added.

Damn. Greg worried about him too, although nowhere near as much as he used to before John Watson arrived on the scene. He weighed his options. Sherlock, even with John Watson’s presence, had the ability to get into ton of hot water – or possibly something much worse when in a bloody clandestine research lab. Greg mentally threw up his metaphorical hands in resignation. He’d have to go.

“You do have another week of leave allocated,” Mycroft observed. Unnecessarily.

“Nosy git,” Greg muttered. Mycroft’s eyebrows rose a scant millimetre. “Alright, I’ll do it, but it’s going to cost you.

Mycroft smiled, all smug and irritating. Greg smiled back.

“Very well, what is your price?”

“A blow job.”

There was a significant pause. He’d managed to surprise Mycroft. Greg’s heart rate kicked up a notch and he tried to control a noisy swallow.

“I’m sorry, what?” There was a tiny wrinkle on Mycroft’s brow line.

“I haven’t had sex in over six months. I’ve just been to Spain for a week and failed completely to hook up with anyone. I came home in the expectation that I would be able to get some before I went back to work. Now you expect me to hare off to Devon and watch over Little Sherlock! You owe me.”

Mycroft spluttered elegantly. Greg didn’t know that was a thing.

“Surely there is always… self pleasuring?” Mycroft inquired, eyebrows lifting a little further.

“Yeah, look, I don’t know about you but after six months I’ve pretty much exhausted my ‘self-pleasuring’ repertoire – I want to remember how my bits work, Mycroft!”

The fact that Mycroft was talking with him about this was unexpected. He really had just run it up the flagpole to see if the man would salute. To Greg’s amazement, he appeared to be considering the possibility.

Mycroft slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Perhaps my assistant could arrange–”

Greg stood up. “No! No, no, no. I want you, Mycroft. Not some hired professional.”

“Me?”

Mycroft’s surprise was complete. Nothing about Greg’s nascent interest had been observed. Greg congratulated himself on never having telegraphed his hidden, and very inconvenient, interest to Mycroft. The fact that Mycroft didn’t appear to think that he might be appealing to Greg was interesting though. Greg’s insight was sudden and a little earth-shattering. Had Mycroft been privately imagining the possibility? If so, he’d obviously came to exactly the wrong conclusion. Well, that would be a turn up for the books.

Okay then…

“Yeah,” Greg lowered his voice and took a step closer. “I mean, I know it would work with you,” he added. And that put them knee-to-knee with Mycroft’s face tilted up slightly, fixing him with a stare.

Silence. Except for some breathing. Quite a lot of breathing.

This time it was Mycroft who swallowed noisily. Greg threw caution into the wind, and decided to risk being shipped to Antarctica in a bag. He drew his fingers up the length of Mycroft’s thigh while he watched his face for clues.

Mycroft blinked. That’s it. Just a blink. Greg almost shouted ‘what are you bloody thinking? I’m almost sure you’re gay – but bloody hell – help an out-of-practice bisexual out, why don’t you?’

“You’re bisexual,” Mycroft stated, pretty redundantly as far as Greg was concerned. This can’t have been news to a man who investigated everyone in his orbit – especially those who had dealings with Sherlock.

“Yep.”

“You find me attractive.”

Oh, so damn close to being a question–

“Yeah,” Greg confirmed slowly. “Very attractive. Sorry for the inconvenience,” he added with a smirk, knowing full well that Mycroft would see this as an complication to a perfectly workable relationship. Greg had been feeling that way himself for quite some time. Suck it up, big boy, life doesn’t always go to fucking plan.

Mycroft drew in a deep breath, his stillness disappearing in sudden movement as he stood up, forcing Greg to hastily step backwards. He took his coat off, revealing a beautifully fitted waistcoat. “Very well then. I’ll need a cushion, if you don’t mind? My knees are aging as fast as the rest of me, I’m afraid.”

“Huh?” Greg goggled at him.

“Would you like to be standing or sitting?” Mycroft asked, strolling to peer into the adjoining lounge area. “Your sofa perhaps?” His nose wrinkled a little, no doubt judging the quality of Greg’s furnishing choices post-divorce.

Superior bastard. Oh, this was going to be really good…

“Actually, how about my bedroom? No need to put your knees through the wringer when we can both lie down in comfort,” Greg offered. He gestured in the direction of his room and went ahead to check that it was indeed as tidy as he’d left it a week ago.

This was happening. He was going to have sex with Mycroft. His ridiculous demand was being granted. Greg wasn’t fooled into thinking Mycroft felt this was completely necessary to ensure Greg’s compliance. The man likely had enough compromising information on him to ensure he’d do anything he asked!

No, Mycroft was doing this for his own reasons. Greg didn’t want to think about that too closely right now for fear of putting the mockers on himself.

He leaned over and turned on the lamp rather than the ceiling light. No reason not to set the mood a little. He pulled his shirt out of his trousers and began unbuttoning. No reason not to get comfortable either. He watched as Mycroft entered behind him, eyes scanning the room quickly and dispassionately.

“Um, do you have to… I don’t know – tell the driver to go home or something? I can drive you home later, if you’d like?” Greg offered.

“That’s very kind of you, but it won’t be necessary, Gregory,” Mycroft replied smoothly, composure seemingly in place.

His eyes lingered on Greg as he continued to undress. Greg didn’t mind. In fact, it was helping things along. He could feel his arousal ratcheting up – his heart beat lifting. He dropped his shirt, trousers and socks on the floor then opened his bedside drawer to pull out lube and condoms. Always be prepared.

Greg was feeling slightly underdressed in a pair of wrinkled boxers he was about to lose. He stood regarding Mycroft, who’d taken off his shoes at least. That was a start… Greg gestured. “Do you want to take anything else off?” 

Mycroft shook his head slowly, eyes raking up and down Greg’s form. “That won’t be required.”

The hell it won’t, Greg thought, but decided not to challenge it.

“Okay, I’ll just–” he gestured at the bed and bent to pull back the duvet and arrange himself on the pillows. His dick was making a mess of his boxers. Good to know everything was still in working order. “Time for the great unveiling,” he muttered, sliding his boxers down and off.

“Ah,” Mycroft said, one knee poised on the edge of the mattress. “That’s rather a large mouthful, Gregory,” he observed. His mouth really was quirking upwards, no denying the man was actually smiling.

Yes! – Greg’s inner voice was gleeful – Mycroft’s gayness confirmed. However–

“You don’t have to blow me, Mycroft, your hands are fine.”

“A deal is a deal, Gregory. I’m sure I’ll manage,” Mycroft responded. He moved to arrange himself over Greg’s thighs, left elbow on the other side of Greg’s hips. “Let me see if I remember how this is done.”

Mycroft’s let his fingers stroke up Greg’s erection. Greg groaned, already in bliss at the touch of someone else’s hand. He coughed self-consciously. “Has it been a long time for you?”

“Giving fellatio? Yes, it has actually,” Mycroft replied absentmindedly, his attention clearly elsewhere as his nimble fingers curled and stroked around Greg’s balls, tweaked his foreskin, petted his perineum.

“Oh god!”

Mycroft darted a quick glance at Greg, smirking as he pressed briefly behind Greg’s balls.

“Ah! Well you don’t have to worry about being rusty – I’m not going to last long, Mycroft,” Greg assured him breathlessly.

“Hmm,” Mycroft murmured as he opened a condom packet and deftly slipped it over Greg’s erection one-handed. His other hand continued to explore and tease. Then, with no warning, Mycroft simply leant down and engulfed his prick.

“Fu-uck!” If Mycroft hadn’t been bracing his hands over Greg’s hips, they would have left the bed. Greg’s breath stuttered. “God, god! Jesus!”

Mycroft pulled his mouth off with an obscene sound. “Such piety, Gregory,” he mocked. Greg opened his eyes and looked down. Mycroft’s eyes shone at him as he once again took Greg’s dick into his mouth. 

“Hah! Oh, god--” Greg’s eyes rolled back and he dropped his head back onto the pillow, unable to maintain any muscle tension in his neck. Even through the latex, the sensation was overpowering -- the man was a genius!

Seconds ticked by and Greg’s climax approached steadily, his breath reduced to a shallow pant. “Won’t be long…” he croaked in warning, trying heroically to keep his hips from bucking up.

Mycroft hummed in apparent agreement. Not fair!-- Greg jolted and hitched up from the pillows.

“Jesus, Jesus, Jeees--!”

He came for long timeless seconds, vision and hearing blanking for a moment. As he let out a long breath and blinked his eyes open, he saw Mycroft gazing at him. Too late to feel self-conscious now, he thought, and grinned dizzily.

“That was…” Greg stopped, unsure what word could properly describe the experience.

Mycroft’s eyebrow inched upwards. “Good?”

“Shit, yes!” Greg huffed in happy awe. “The best,” he added, licking his dry lips and reaching down to remove the spent condom. He swung his legs down and sat at the edge of the bed to throw it in his bin. His head was swimming with the pleasant afterglow of a truly outstanding orgasm. He tilted his head to look at Mycroft. The man was looking a little flushed and, as Greg watched, he lifted his hands to loosen his tie and undo the top button of his shirt. “Let me get you a drink?” Greg offered.

There was a tiny hesitation before Mycroft gracefully inclined his head in acceptance.

“Whisky?” Greg inquired.

“Please,” Mycroft nodded.

Greg stood up and grabbed his dressing gown from the end of the bed. He felt loose and relaxed, and maybe actually happy. He almost snorted, amused at his own reaction to finally getting off with someone. He’d opened the kitchen cabinet and taken down the bottle of Glenlivet before it occurred to him that he really should have returned the favour for Mycroft. He froze with his hand on the bottle. Of course he should bloody do the same for him! Never mind the ridiculous excuse of a deal – that was only ever a means to an end, Greg realised in a rush of insight; Mycroft had clearly wanted to suck him off.

Mycroft rather fancied him, didn’t he? Greg smiled slyly to himself and filled two tumblers with a double measure of Scotch each. He only just stopped himself from whistling as he made his way back to the bedroom. He found Mycroft scrolling through messages on his phone, although still seated on the bed.

“Here you go,” Greg said, passing Mycroft a glass and taking a sip from his own. “Ah, just the ticket.” He put his glass on the side table and watched as Mycroft downed a mouthful, swallowing with some relish. He tipped his head slightly at Greg.

“Glenlivet, Gregory? Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Greg smiled back, wondering how to approach the man about reciprocating. Well, the direct approach worked last time…

He reached over and slowly took hold of both the glass and Mycroft’s phone. Mycroft didn’t resist, but his forehead creased in confusion and curiosity.

“What–”

Greg cut him off, “Your turn.”

“Gregory, that really isn’t necessary,” Mycroft began. “The deal we made–”

“Was utter bollocks,” Greg interrupted him again. He placed the phone and glass on the table and stood up, dropping his dressing gown on the floor. Mycroft’s eyes tracked him and widened slightly.

Greg stood in front of Mycroft, butting slightly against his knees. Mycroft had to tip his head up to meet Greg’s eyes. He looked oddly vulnerable. Greg resolved to go slowly. “You’re a little overdressed, Mister Holmes,” Greg said, reaching out to undo Mycroft’s tie. He watched, rapt, as Mycroft’s throat bobbed around a swallow.

“What are you doing, Gregory?” the man asked, his voice roughened from his usual smooth timbre.

Greg grinned. “I’m returning the favour, Mycroft. Because you made me feel bloody fantastic, and I think you deserve to feel just as good. Hopefully, I can make that happen, yeah?” he asked, just to check that they were on the same page.

Mycroft let out a sigh as Greg pulled his tie out from under his collar,but he made no move to stop him as Greg began undoing buttons. He didn’t take his eyes off Greg. It made Greg smile, thinking that he’d managed to bamboozle him into silence.

The bloody waistcoat was in the way.

Greg huffed in frustration. “Um, I might need some help here–” he complained, his fingers failing utterly with the tiny buttons ranged down Mycroft’s front. He looked up from his task to see Mycroft smirking at him. Greg laughed.

“Oh, come on! Is it like a weird chastity outfit?” He gestured in frustration. “Here I am trying to be all smooth and seductive and get you into bed and I can’t even get your kit off without bollixing it up!”

Mycroft snickered. It was charmingly undignified. With fingers much more nimble that Greg’s, the man divested himself of his waistcoat. “Nonsense, Gregory. I don’t think you need to be concerned over your abilities in that area.”

“Yeah?” Greg raised his eyebrows and grinned a bit. “That sounds encouraging,” he said, and continued unbuttoning Mycroft’s shirt, pulling the tails out of his trousers. Mycroft kept his face down and made much work of removing his cufflinks. Greg wondered if he was shy about his body. That would be… intriguing.

Mycroft stood and, with his eyes still averted, undid his flies and dropped his trousers.

Greg was relieved to see that he was slightly aroused. He could work with that. But Mycroft still had his eyes on the floor.

“Hey,” Greg called softly. Mycroft’s eyes darted up, his face a bit flushed. “Nice pants,” Greg gestured at Mycroft’s burgundy boxers. “Silk?”

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Yes.” He looked backwards at the bed. “Do you want me to–”

“Oh, yeah– just lie down and get comfy,” Greg directed, leaning over to plump up the pillows. He tried not to stare as Mycroft arranged his lean and graceful limbs on the duvet. It was fulfilling a fantasy he’d not acknowledged openly even in his own mind. Remarkably, his erection was attempting a comeback.

“I’m really not very good at blow jobs, I’m afraid,” Greg began, sliding onto the bed beside Mycroft. “I have a touchy gag reflex.”

“I really wasn’t expecting–”

“Yeah, I know. But I would have liked to do the same for you.” Greg balanced on his elbow and faced Mycroft. “I can still make you feel good, I think,” he said, moving his open hand along Mycroft’s chest, down his stomach, to end cupping his length through the fabric of his boxers.

Mycroft’s hips twitched upwards a mere half inch. “As you wish,” he responded on a breath.

Greg suspected that it wouldn’t take long, bearing in mind Mycroft’s apparent long dry spell. He’d give himself a challenge, see how long he could make it last. He trailed his fingertips along Mycroft’s lengthening erection, watching avidly as Mycroft struggled to keep his hips from bucking up. Greg’s mouth filled with saliva – he really wished he could take it all down. Still – he eyed the expanse of Mycroft’s chest – plenty more use for his mouth.

“First stage: check erogenous zones are in optimum condition,” Greg announced. He leaned over and licked at the nearest nipple. Mycroft gave a gratifying moan and failed to keep his hips from rising to meet Greg’s teasing fingers. Greg continued licking and sucking, stroking as Mycroft’s breathing changed to short, quick panting breaths.

Mycroft’s hand came to rest on the back of Greg’s head. Greg paused and looked up.

“S-sorry, Gregory,” he said, removing his hand quickly. Mycroft already looked wrecked, his erection, cruelly constrained in underwear, pulsed under Greg’s hand.

Greg grinned at him. “Don’t be sorry! I liked it. Go on, put your hand back,” he said, bending to lavish some attention on Mycroft’s right nipple this time. It only took a few seconds for Mycroft to start moaning again, and then Greg felt Mycroft’s hand once more on his head. Greg closed his eyes as Mycroft’s fingers gently kneaded his hair and scalp. He hummed, his lips still on Mycroft’s nipple.

“Ah!” Mycroft shouted, lifting his hips. “Gregory–”

He looked up. “All right?”

“Yes! God, yes,” Mycroft affirmed in a rough voice. His perfectly neat hair was mussed and a gleam of sweat shone on his high forehead.

Greg leaned down and took hold of the waistband of Mycroft’s boxers. “Second stage: final separation of clothing from vital areas.” So saying, he dragged Mycroft’s pants over his hips, down his long legs, over his feet, and threw them carelessly to the floor.

He gazed down at Mycroft for a moment then gave into the impulse, covering him with his body from hips to shoulders and nuzzling into the side of Mycroft’s neck. He licked and nibbled lightly on the skin there, salty with Mycroft’s sweat. He growled happily and explored with his mouth, jaw, ear, collarbone.

Mycroft gave a soft series of ‘oh, oh,’ shifting and rolling his hips up to meet Greg’s. His hands found Greg’s waist, drifting to his arse and staying there, clutching, squeezing and rubbing. The stimulation was all Greg needed to achieve a renewed erection – not the biggest surprise of the night, but pretty amazing all the same.

He made an experimental thrust against Mycroft’s hip and Mycroft's breath hitched, his hands pressing against Greg’s arse.

“You like that, yeah?” Greg husked into his ear.

“Yes-s.” Mycroft’s reply came on a breathless whisper.

Greg lifted himself on his elbows, looking down at Mycroft’s flushed face. “I can do better,” he said, smiling.

Mycroft looked back warily, eyebrows lifting. “Really?”

“Yep. Just… spread your legs a bit,” he directed, as he leaned over to pick up the lube. He squeezed out a handful, slathering it on his own prick first, then smoothing it over Mycroft’s. Greg moved in between Mycroft’s legs, angling his hips into alignment. He lowered his hips and got Mycroft’s heated length against his own.

“Third stage: both participants get very fucking happy,” Greg rasped, thrusting long and slow over Mycroft’s erection. It was deliciously slippery and hot. Greg’s eyes slid shut and he groaned, moving into another thrust. In the next breath Greg found himself flipped onto his back with Mycroft looming over him, a predatory glint lighting his eyes.

“Huh,” he huffed out, lifting his hips slightly to find Mycroft’s prick satisfyingly close by. “Too slow for you?” Greg asked with a grin, moving his hands to stroke over Mycroft’s arse. There was an advantage to the new position, he thought.

“Not as such, Gregory. However, I do like to be in control,” Mycroft replied. “Now, would you be kind enough to spread your legs?”

Greg’s mouth dropped open and he did as Mycroft instructed, feeling a bit out of his depth. How had this seemingly shy man shifted without warning into the dominant bloke ordering him around in his own bedroom? As Mycroft carefully lowered himself, Greg groaned and flexed his hands on Mycroft’s backside. Shit. He’d been played! That was bloody humiliating.

And a bit of a turn on, to be honest.

Greg moved his hands to explore Mycroft’s nicely rounded arse. Mycroft had their pricks pressing together and did a slow grind against Greg.

“F-fuck!” Greg gasped, his eyes rolling back.

Mycroft gave a pleased little hum and repeated the action. Greg swore again, clutching at Mycroft’s arse with sweaty hands, his hips pistoning upwards following the sensation. Mycroft began a steady, rhythmic frot, his quickened breath gusting over Greg’s face with the scent of whisky.

It was too good. Greg rolled his head from side to side, lost in pleasure. At this point he didn’t really care if he came or not. Mycroft, however, seemed to be approaching orgasm – his rhythm picking up speed and a slight tremor running through his arms.

“Yeah, so good,” Greg murmured, running his hands over Mycroft’s arse. “You gonna come all over me, huh?”

Mycroft groaned brokenly, his head tipping down as he looked down at his erection alongside Greg’s. He moved a hand in between their bodies and grasped them both, pulling and thrusting into a tight channel of fingers.

“Jesus fuck!” It was almost too good, and yet not enough to pull Greg over the edge.

With a low, drawn out groan Mycroft came, his long body shaking with the force of it.

Greg stared and ran his hands up and down the length of his back. Watching Mycroft in the grip of orgasm, all his habitual control absent, was doing ridiculous things to Greg’s already overwhelming desire for him, “God, you’re so bloody sexy,” Greg whispered hoarsely, unable to help his hips tilting up again and again, though he knew he wasn’t likely to finish. He didn’t really mind – he’d be wanking off to this memory another time. That was guaranteed.

Mycroft’s arms collapsed and he let his weight rest on Greg. He was undeniably heavy but it felt marvellous nonetheless. His head rested on Greg’s shoulder, face turned away. Greg stroked his fingers through Mycroft’s soft, completely disordered hair. He’d thought that Mycroft used something to keep his hair so neat and kempt, but he was wrong. He could only assume it was sheer brainpower that Mycroft used to achieve his perfect hairstyle. It didn’t say much about the power of Greg’s brain given the frequent state of his own hair. Greg chuckled quietly to himself.

Mycroft lifted his head to look at him askance.

Greg smiled. “Sorry, just… weird thoughts,” he explained.

“Ah.”

Mycroft moved to lie down on his side next to Greg, his mouth making a brief moue of distaste at the mess he’d left on their bodies.

“I’ll get a cloth,” Greg said. He made a move to get up and found Mycroft restraining him with a hand on his chest.

“We aren’t finished yet, Gregory.”

“Huh?”

Mycroft traced a finger along Greg’s firm prick.

“Oh. I don’t think I can come again. Not a young man any more!” Greg protested. He gave Mycroft a rueful grin. “More’s the pity.”

“I think you underestimate yourself, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft argued quietly as he continued running his finger up and down Greg’s erection. It gave a reflexive jolt at the stimulation.

Greg raised his eyebrows. “You think so? I wish I had your confidence in my performance,” he said. Although, he really was feeling the urge to get off again now. Maybe it was worth a try…

And having Mycroft stroke him really was a turn on.

“Why don’t you just lie there and I’ll see what I can do to assist you,” Mycroft offered, moving to sit astride Greg’s thighs. He picked up the lube and applied some to Greg, slickening his length once more. He stroked in a firm, quick rhythm.

Greg’s eyes slid closed with pleasure. His hips attempted to lift in time with Mycroft’s hands, Mycroft’s weight constraining the movement to a regular twitch of muscles. God, how was this his life? Sexy, powerful man getting him off for the second time in one night. He groaned and rolled his head from side to side.

Greg opened his eyes to see Mycroft gazing down at him with an intensely focused expression, lips slightly parted. Greg reached out to Mycroft’s thighs where they were braced on either side of his hips. He moved his hands up and down the warm, lightly furred skin. Mycroft added a twist at the end of each stroke and Greg swore, his eyes sliding shut again.

“Fuck, so good, so good.” Impossibly – or so he’d thought – he could feel an orgasm nearing. “Jesus,” he whispered.

“Ye-es, Gregory,” Mycroft encouraged him, his voice low and almost purring in satisfaction. “You’re going to come now.”

And that was the final piece needed. “Nnnggh!” Body jolting violently, Greg came.

His breath escaped in a wheeze. His fingers clamped down hard on Mycroft’s thighs, leaving indents. His neck stiffened, his head leaving the pillow for long, mindless moments.

Vision clearing slowly, Greg he came back to himself a piece at a time. He was still struggling to catch his breath when Mycroft walked back into the bedroom, dressed in trousers and holding a washcloth he’d evidently found in Greg’s bathroom. He leaned over and, with quick efficiency, wiped Greg’s chest and stomach.

“Thanks,” Greg said, voice cracking.

“How do you feel, Gregory?”

Greg huffed a pained laugh. “Broken.”

Mycroft smiled down at him like the Cheshire Cat. “That is odd, considering how very well put together you look.”

Greg’s eyes popped. “Mycroft! Are you flirting with me?” He laughed in amazement. “You realise we’ve sort of done this backwards, don’t you?”

“Oh? How so, Gregory?”

Greg swung his legs off the bed and stood up in front of Mycroft. “I mean–”

Greg placed his hands either side of Mycroft’s face and tugged him down those few inches of height difference. He planted his lips firmly over Mycroft’s, then softened the pressure, pulling back to lick and nibble. Mycroft seemed unsure how to respond, his neck rigid. Greg moved his lips gently side to side, silently asking, and finally Mycroft’s mouth opened on a sigh. Greg felt Mycroft’s hands sliding up to clutch at his waist.

Greg cupped the back of Mycroft’s head, threading his fingers through his hair. Greg tongued into Mycroft’s mouth, stroking and exploring, and finally pulling back slowly to kiss playfully at his lips. He leaned back, locking eyes with Mycroft. Mycroft looked slightly dazed.

“I mean that. That’s where we should have started. You know, before the toe-curling orgasms.” Greg smiled and drew his hands back down, lingering over the warm skin of Mycroft’s neck and shoulders.

“Hm, you may have a point. However, such emotional displays are not my forte, I’m afraid,” was Mycroft’s rejoinder. He plucked his shirt from the end of the bed and donned it gracefully, fingers flickering over the buttons with unnatural speed.

“Oh?” Greg leaned down to snag his boxers off the floor. He hopped ungracefully, tugging them over his feet one at a time. “I find emotional stuff very sexy, myself.”

Mycroft made a soft ‘chuh’ of sound. “Yes, well you would, Gregory,” he scoffed.

“Arse,” Greg said, throwing Mycroft’s socks at his face. The bastard just caught them deftly.

“Thank you, Gregory. I rather like yours too,” Mycroft commented with a smirk. “However, I regret I won’t be able to engage in any repeat… activities. I hope that you can still see your way to assisting me with the situation at Baskerville.”

Greg had been almost expecting Mycroft to duck and cover after something so revealing as a rousing shag together. That didn’t mean he didn’t still feel the sting of rejection. He shrugged, trying to salvage his pride.

“Yeah, I’ll drive down in the morning and see what the git is up to.” Greg shouldered into a vest, feeling a need to cover himself now that Mycroft had almost finished dressing again.

Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed to lace his shoes. Greg stood, hands on hips, watching him, wondering if there was any chance–

“Goodbye, Gregory. Thank you for a very diverting evening,” Mycroft said as he rose and walked to the doorway.

Greg trailed behind. “Sure you don’t want a cuppa before you go?” Greg asked, wincing at how needy he must sound.

Mycroft snatched up his umbrella from the back of the stool. He glanced at Greg. “I appreciate the offer, but I must be getting back. Duty calls.”

“Yeah, of course.” Greg waved a hand towards to door. “Well, I’ll let you know how things go with the dynamic duo tomorrow.”

Mycroft paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I’m very grateful, Gregory.” He turned his head slightly towards Greg. “Goodbye.”

Then he was out the door, closing it quietly, apologetically, it seemed to Greg.

He gave a deep sigh. “Okay… okay then,” Greg replied to his empty flat.

‹‹‹‹‹‹‹‹‹:›››››››››


End file.
